


damn sure

by santanico



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian finds something out about his past. John is there to help him cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	damn sure

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Certeza pra caramba](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4538118) by [Rosetta (Melime)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melime/pseuds/Rosetta)



> Another fic for Lena, pretty much. My goal is to write tons of John/Dorian fic and get everyone on board and rule from above. Tell your friends! Tell your family.

“I didn’t know you were decommissioned.”

“Well, what did you think happened?” Dorian asks with a laugh. “Did you think no one ever turned me on? That you were the first face I ever saw?” John is glaring at him and he shakes his head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I didn’t know,” John says, a sharp catch in his voice.

Dorian frowns. “Don’t sound so angry. It’s not my fault.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” John demands, and Dorian flinches. “Sorry, I just – I thought it’d be something important.”

“I know the basic facts but I – I don’t have the memories.” Dorian frowns as he shuffles through the paperwork, sitting back down at the desk and pretending to focus his attention on the computer screen, scanning through files. “I was decommissioned after the death of my then-partner. We were cops together. I don’t even know how long. The memories are gone. I was a blank slate when Rudy rebooted me for you, basically. There aren’t any recollections of the event.”

“Are you okay?”

“Why?” Dorian asks.

“You aren’t looking at me.”

Dorian fixes his gaze on John. “Happy?”

John’s frown deepens and he nods. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…cause any drama.” He claps Dorian on the shoulder and then squeezes. “You…are you comin’ over tonight?”

Dorian shrugs. “Would you like me to?” He pretends not to see John roll his eyes and throw his head back.

“’Course I would, don’t be an idiot,” John says, hand still on Dorian’s shoulder. The lingering of the touch is satisfying and Dorian finally smiles.

“Fine, then. I’ll see you later.”

-

The thing about John Kennex is that he’s stubborn. Dorian can handle that though it gets frustrating. Sometimes Dorian catches John staring at him and they both look away hoping the other didn’t catch them, but Dorian knows better.

Holding hands is one thing – Dorian doesn’t blame John for being hesitant, because the situation demands hesitance. Even Dorian doesn’t know what he’s doing, especially in regards to his relationship with John. A strong friendship. Something more than that – who really knows, at this point? Perhaps Dorian does lay awake at night and wonder what existence was like before he was reawaken. Dorian is too self-aware, and those thoughts become terrifying when delved in too deeply.

John avoids the subject, a common tactic on his part. Dorian notices that, with passing time, John prefers to pretend that certain things and facts just don’t exist. It’s a coping mechanism, and Dorian is truthfully a little jealous that John can do that. To Dorian, the entire world is spinning through his head every second of the day, every moment, creating a universe where his own mind is under attack.

They sit together on John’s couch because that’s half of what they do after boring shifts at the precinct – not every case is murder or grand theft auto or even requires more than one or two detectives. Valerie and Paul are able on their own, and there’s still a clear sense of distrust of John throughout the office. No one feels quite right about Dorian, either, but Dorian knows that’s a different subject altogether. Dorian is too much like a _real_ person, and people would rather avoid him because they can’t handle his ability to tease and react, something the MXs don’t do, ever.

John’s used to Dorian by now. The amount of time spent together makes it much easier, and Dorian starts to pick up on patterns. In particular, John sits with his synthetic ankle on my good knee, one hand on his left thigh and the other elbow rested on the armrest at the end of the couch, his chin in the palm of his hand.

“That doesn’t look natural,” Dorian comments on a quiet evening after John’s finished dinner.

“Most things about me don’t,” John says, but he shifts to sit with both feet flat on the ground. “Fine.” There’s a beat. “You’re staring at me. I need to talk to you.”

“Oh. Was I staring?” Dorian glances back at the large TV on the wall. “That thing is old, you know. At least ten years.”

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” John growls, turning his weight and look at Dorian. Dorian keeps his gaze on the television, which is more outdated than he is. Something about that makes him smile.

“Then what?”

“I talked to Rudy.”

Dorian glances to the side and hums. “You two have a date?”

“How the hell do you do that?” John groans, leaning back against the armrest and rubbing his hand over his forehead. “How do you manage to be so sarcastic and…mean? You know what I’m going to ask. Tell me if you don’t want me to.”

Dorian stares at the TV, set on a news station. “I know the entire history of the United States of America. Everything is set up inside me, every day, every moment. I know which presidents were murdered and every state that’s attempted to secede since the beginning. I know about the murder, the brutality, the hope and the pride. I know the history of Canada, too. And India. And Australia, and New Zealand, and everywhere else. To put it simply, I know the world’s history. It’s on the tip of my tongue every second. I know phrases like ‘tip of the tongue’ because I’m programmed to know those things. To be able to talk casually and not be constantly referring to police work. Can you imagine that? Your entire being is overloaded. There isn’t any peace, John.”

He can feel John’s eyes and he turns and smiles. “Everything, always. Sure, you can file it away, but it’s still there, and it never leaves. Information isn’t lost and it can’t be deleted. You have to live with everything, every single day. Could you do that?”

“No.” John’s answer is instant and he sits up. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Dorian gives a small shake of his head. “The way you responded to the death of your partner…to your own pain.” He glances over but John’s face hasn’t yet hardened. “You know how difficult that was, yes?”

John just nods, eyes tight and focused.

“I don’t remember…that. In part, I’m grateful.” He looks back at the blank TV. “To know that you’re considered a robot, to be part of an disrespected species –”

“I respect you,” John cuts in.

Dorian just shakes his head again. “That’s not the point. You _know_ that’s not the point. People say things, they always say things…they trip on their words. Robots, androids, synthetics, DRNs. To most people, we’re interchangeable. But what I’m saying is that my pain can be erased, deleted, recorded elsewhere. Maybe my memories are stored on a database, but to those who look at it, it’s just an experience captured on a camera. I don’t know what it feels like to lose a partner.” Dorian gives John a long look, eyes open and wide. “I’ll never know. They decommissioned me and took my memory and I was reborn, for you.”

“Dorian…”

There’s silence between them for a moment.

John continues, “I thought…that you at least knew…”

Dorian glances at him, frowning. “Knew what?”

“Rudy told me the records show that you…” John hesitates and Dorian turns to look at him with a deeper frown.

“That I what?”

“You requested decommission.”

“What?”

John swallows and curses. “I don’t know, man, I just…” He looks away, avoiding eye contact. “That’s what he says. I don’t remember exactly, something like _The DRN has admitted to his inability to work with a new partner, has been responding poorly to the death of old, dead partner_ , yada yada…” John rubs his hands together, looks out the window, turns his head and looks toward the hallway, which leads to the bathroom, the bedroom. “You lost a partner. And that…that’s a blow. I know that’s a blow. You couldn’t deal with it, so they shut you down, but it was…it was your own request.”

“I wouldn’t have asked them to wipe my memory,” Dorian says. Something isn’t quite clicking right, and he’s running through the scenarios in his head. “They just…they did it because I might have to wake up. Didn’t they? Just in case. Or because it didn’t matter. They didn’t care. My function was…more important than my agency.”

John’s eyes betray his sorrow and Dorian stands, running his hands down the thighs of his jeans. “That seems deeply unfair.”

He doesn’t notice that John’s moved until fingers are wrapped around his wrist. “Sit,” John says, still resting on the couch, now much closer to Dorian. “Stay.”

Dorian closes his eyes to focus on the touch. Behind his eyelids lays programming, images, blue and white lights that twinkle on the edge of his mind. What he thinks should be a mind. He rakes through his memories, has a vague recollection of being a cop once before, but even that feels distant. He had had a partner, but he doesn’t know their gender, their face, anything about them. There’s a pang that shoots through his chest and legs when he tries to delve deeper, and that makes him stop.

He sits down, and John’s grip loosens.

“Hey,” John says, voice quiet and faint. “Dorian?”

“Yes…?”

“You’re not blinking.”

On cue, Dorian blinks. He has to force himself to do it twice, then a third and fourth time, before it starts to feel natural again; like his own programming rebooted and forgot to turn the blinking mechanism back on. He leans against the back of the couch and moves his hand so he’s holding John’s. John doesn’t pull away.

“Apologies.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I want to remember.”

“Do you think that’s…such a good idea?” John’s thumb is stroking up and down Dorian’s inner wrist, where his pulse would be if he had real blood. It still feels good, intimate. He closes his eyes and lets out a breath.

“I don’t mean before then. I can…accept that loss.” Dorian turns slightly and lifts his eyes to meet John’s. John blinks and squeezes Dorian’s wrist, his mouth open just enough for Dorian to see the tips of his teeth. Dorian gives him a half-smile. “I want to remember this. I don’t ever want any scientist or cop digging through these memories and sealing them away and shutting me down.”

“I won’t let that happen,” John says, intertwining their fingers.

“If you’re dead, you won’t have much of a choice.”

“I’ll put it in my goddamn will.”

“You sure?”

“Damn sure.”

Dorian touches John’s face and leans in – they kiss. They’ve kissed before. Subtle and quiet kisses that were never really addressed. That’s how they ended up sleeping in the same bed, ended up living in the same apartment, ended up talking for hours.

“I’m tired,” Dorian says, and he wonders if John thinks he’s really a good kisser.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” John says, and Dorian closes his eyes as he leans into John’s shoulder. John wraps an arm around Dorian and Dorian lets himself drift. The last thing he hears is John humming, and then, “that’s just fine.”


End file.
